


you are the ember of my heart (whether you like that or not)

by dissociativeclifford



Series: young dumb broke high school kids [4]
Category: South Park
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash, Tattoos, honestly i dont even know, ish, stick and poke tattoos, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dissociativeclifford/pseuds/dissociativeclifford
Summary: the weight of kenny's hips on stan's back is so relaxing that no needle could possibly hurt.





	you are the ember of my heart (whether you like that or not)

**sadboi:** kenny  
 **sadboi:** do you still have your tattoo stuff  
 **sadboi:** for the kind like the ones on your wrist

 **stonerkid:** yeah

 **sadboi:** i want one  
 **sadboi:** tonight

 **stonerkid:** tonight?

 **sadboi:** tonight

 **stonerkid:** k

  
Stan hums in satisfaction and sets his phone on his bedside table, yawning tiredly. It's Friday afternoon, and the sun is just about to go down, but Stan has been sleeping all day. It's one of those days, the kind he's used to having, where nothing feels right, but nothing feels  _wrong_ either.  He remembers describing it to Kenny once:  _It's like when you're streaming a movie, and the audio gets just like, a_ millisecond  _off and it doesn't affect how you watch the movie, but it's just so slightly shifted that everything feels weird_.

These are the kinds of days when Stan would usually do something impulsive.  After hours of lying in the dark and just  _thinking_ about how his mind worked, Stan had come to the conclusion that he just needed to feel  _alive_ on days like this.  To feel alive instead of just existing.

Usually these are the kinds of days where Stan'll cut his hair, tear everything off his walls, carve a symbol into his skin, or sit next to the train tracks to get the adrenaline rush of the giant train shaking the ground around him.  But today, he has Kenny.  And Kenny makes him feel alive too.

Stan hums and stretches his arms above his head, letting them fall down over his forehead, and it's then that he breathes in his own teenage stench and realizes he needs to shower.  Pausing the music playing from his Spotify playlist, conveniently titled "existentialism," he swings his legs out of the bed and trudges his way down the hall to the bathroom.  His house is empty, both of his parents still at work, but he still locks the door instinctively before stripping out of his clothes.

Stan pauses and looks at himself in the mirror.  He doesn't think about his appearance that much ( _"After all, Ken, people aren't bodies.  We're brains, controlling giant meat sacks."_ ), but in the midst of recent... events, he had been more aware of his own physical presence.  He ponders the idea of having something inked permanently on his body- it's kind of pressuring.  What if he picks something that's really special to him right now, but then something happens and it's just a reminder of a bad memory for the rest of his life?  What if he picks something totally cheesy and regrets it?

"You can't go wrong with a tattoo that means nothing," Stan says to himself, leaning into the mirror and rubbing the stubble on his cheeks.  Maybe he'll just let Kenny surprise him.

Stan's mind wanders to Kenny's collection of tattoos, all stick-and-pokes done by himself with stolen ink and cheap needles.  He remembers when Kenny showed up to school one day with his first piece of body art: Karen's three initials printed simply on his left index finger.  After that, he began collecting more and more, miscellaneous line designs and symbols scattered across his body.

 

After a quick shower, Stan feels a little better and a lot cleaner.  He puts on a clean pair of grey joggers and an old Vans t-shirt, kicking some dirty clothes into the corner when Kenny says he's on his way. _"Jesus, Stan, you are filthy,"_ he can hear Kenny's voice teasing him in his mind, though Kenny knew he was much, much messier than Stan.

Kenny shows up within ten minutes of the text, his token backpack slung over his shoulder and a big grin on his face like always.  "Ready to get tatted the fuck up?"

Stan grins, yanking Kenny inside so he can close the door.  "Hell yeah."

After a few minutes of grabbing energy drinks from the fridge and chips from the pantry, the two have made their way up into Stan's room.  Kenny sits cross-legged on the bed, his shoes and hoodie left on the floor as he starts removing supplies from his backpack.

"So, what'm I gonna be imprinting on your skin for the next hour?"

Stan gawks. " _Hour_?"

"Half hour, hour, whatever," Kenny shrugs casually.  "However long it takes."

Stan hums and leans back against the wall that his bed is pressed up against. "I want it on my back.  But I don't know what I want; surprise me."

"YEET," Kenny exclaims with a grin, to which Stan slow-blinks and sighs, laughing softly.  "Take off your shirt and lie down."

Stan pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor and lying down on his stomach.  A moment later, Stan feels the weight of Kenny's legs straddling his hips, and he's grateful for the fact that he took a shower as well as the fact that his face is hidden in a pillow, cause he's pretty sure he's blushing hard.  He doesn't know why, but by this point he doesn't really question the way he feels around Kenny.

"Is right here good?" Kenny asks, dragging his fingertips between Stan's shoulder blades.  Stan gets goosebumps at the ticklish feeling, and Kenny chuckles a little under his breath.  "If it's sensitive there then it'll hurt more."

Stan's sure he's blushing now.  "Uhm, maybe more to the side," he says, and Kenny's fingertips move up and to the right, on the back of his shoulder.  "That's good."

Kenny hums in agreement and moves a little, then Stan feels another weight on his back, between Kenny's knees.  "I'm using you as my table," Kenny says, and Stan can hear the grin in his voice. "I'm just gonna clean your skin and then draw the design."

Stan doesn't protest, and feels Kenny wiping over his skin with a cold cloth.  He wrinkles his nose a little at the harsh smell of antiseptic, like something that he'd smelled at his mom's work or in elementary school when he had to visit the conjoined fetus lady's office.  Kenny pats the damp spot of skin softly, then Stan feels him drawing something with a pen.  He tries to pay close attention to the way the pen moves, trying to figure out what Kenny's drawing, but he's not sure.

"'Kay, Stan, I'm gonna start now," Kenny says gently, having already set up his tattooing needle.

Stan feels the first prick of the needle in his skin, and he's surprised at how little it hurts.  More than the minuscule pricks in his skin, Stan pays more attention to the feeling of Kenny's rough hands on his body, and Kenny's warm breath causing goosebumps on his back.

For the next hour, Kenny goes over and over the design, wiping away the excess ink each time.  Stan gets used to the feeling of the needle, but he doesn't get used to the feeling of Kenny's breath on his bare skin.

"Okay, I think I'm done, I can touch it up another time if you want it to be darker," Kenny says, shoving his supplies back into his bag without getting off of Stan's hips.  "You wanna see?"

Stan makes a small noise of agreement.  Normally he'd be embarrassed by the fact that he nearly fell asleep with Kenny sitting on him, but Kenny was so warm and Stan felt so content and happy inside that there wasn't anything he thought could ruin his good mood.  He hears the click of Kenny's phone camera and then feels the blonde roll off of his hips back onto the bed.

Stan sits up, slightly disappointed at the loss of Kenny's body heat on his.  "Let me see."

Kenny hands over his phone, and Stan doesn't miss the small bit of insecurity flickering over Kenny's face.

The design is small, about an inch, maybe inch and a half from what Stan can tell, in length.  It's a [line-art of a Band-Aid](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/599823244092547856/), simple, but nice.  The skin around it is a little red, black ink smudged here and there cause Kenny hadn't bothered to clean it off completely.  Stan feels himself smile softly, and looks up at Kenny, curious for an explanation.

"I, uh," Kenny stammers, and Stan  _swears_ Kenny's blushing.  "Not to get all, like, cliche on you, but like, I dunno.  I know you get sad a lot and like, it'll be okay, even if you have to hold yourself together."

And at that, Stan practically throws himself onto Kenny, hugging him tight.  Kenny's a little taken aback, but he grins, and wraps his arms around Stan's shoulders in response.

"I'll take it that you like it?"

Stan leans out of the hug, a little red in the face. "Yeah. I love it," he says, shyly pushing his hair out of his face.  He bites his lip.  "And I love you too.  You're the best."

Kenny smiles widely, his eyes shining just a little brighter than usual.  He'll never get tired of Stan.

"Love you too, dude."

**Author's Note:**

> im having a lot of fun writing these two's dynamics. they don't encompass typical relationship roles and i think its interesting. even though this was a giant vent fic it was still fun to write
> 
> lol i didn't edit this but i never edit anything


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